


Ever After

by 823freckles



Series: Bleed to Love You [28]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Let's have a happy fluffy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/823freckles/pseuds/823freckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years later, Alana recovers a lost memory.</p><p>Day 30 of 30 Days of Hannibloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Day 30?! *uncontrollable sobbing*
> 
> So, to end this, some final dedications:  
> To Charlotteof_Denmark, for sharing her prompts with me and being a constant cheerleader,  
> Lucy for helping correct some of my Lithuanian,  
> Mchanni and Jade for their encouragement, and  
> For you, reader.

_Five years later:_

Alana sat on her Tuscan balcony drinking a cup of tea. The tea tasted of rose petals, hibiscus, and fennel, and nothing else. Alana’s husband hadn’t drugged her in five years. Memories were starting to come back. One had come back that very morning, and Alana sat on the balcony, lost in her thoughts as she sipped her tea.

She knew it gave her away as American when she went to the store and asked for tea instead of coffee, but so did her accent. She had learned Italian, but she still couldn’t speak it as well as her husband and daughter, who were both fluent in the language. She loved Italy but still sometimes felt separate, other. But it was home, wherever Hannibal and Abigail were would always be home.

From inside the house, she heard the poetic-sounding trill of her daughter’s voice speaking a mix of Italian and English to her father, her beloved papa. 

“Come questo, papa. Like this!”

The lovely, soothing notes from the piano flowed from the house out to where Alana sat on the balcony. She listened to the song and placed it as Yiruma’s “River Flows in You.” Alana knew that Abigail was playing the song for her papa. Her daughter was already a talented piano player at four years of age, almost supernaturally so. She took after her father in so many ways, and Alana was proud of her little enigma of a child. 

Next she heard the beginning of the song again, this time tentative and with mistakes. “Like that, mylimoji?” Hannibal asked. He was teasing their daughter by playing the song poorly; he could perfectly imitate any song she might play him on the piano.

Abigail giggled, and it sounded to Alana like a beautiful high-pitched series of musical notes coming from her daughter’s lovely little mouth. “No, papa!”

Alana stood up and walked to their kitchen, depositing her empty glass in the dishwasher. Then she walked into their sitting room, where Hannibal and Abigail sat at their big grand piano. It had been Abigail’s 3rd birthday gift from her papa (“How you spoil her so,” Alana had chastised Hannibal, “She’s only three! She won’t be able to play that!”). But the little girl took strongly to the instrument and now spent nearly every morning playing the piano while her proud parents listened. Alana could sometimes read the gloating in Hannibal’s look, “I told you she’d be able to play,” even though he’d never say it aloud, for that would be rude. And more importantly, it might result in his beloved wife not speaking to him for a day. She never did last longer than a day, even when she was furious with him, which was rare.

She walked up behind Hannibal and wrapped her arms around his back. Then she kissed his neck. She could feel his pulse beneath her lips. She rested her mouth there against his pulsing neck as he swallowed. Then he turned to kiss her lips. She opened her mouth beneath his gladly. He moaned deep in his throat.

A tug on Alana’s shirt pulled her attention away from her husband. She broke the kiss and looked down at Abigail sitting on the piano bench. Her daughter stared up at her with big eyes and asked politely, “Please listen to me play, mommy.” 

“Yes, honey.” Abigail turned away from her and started to play. 

Hannibal looked up at Alana and when he captured her eye, stated, “We’re lucky, aren’t we, numylėtinė?”

Hannibal’s old term of endearment for her brought the memory she’d recaptured to the forefront of her mind, and she frowned. “We need to talk,” she mouthed to Hannibal. His eyes narrowed and he frowned, but then he turned to Abigail and smiled. “Keep going, Abigail. Your song is lovely, my daughter.”

\--

They stood outside the back door of their big Italian villa. Abigail played on their land in back of the villa with Applesauce, tossing a ball to the dog. She tossed the ball beside an olive tree, and Applesauce dodged to the tree to pick up the ball and returned it to the giggling child.

Alana watched her daughter as she spoke. “I remember you…killing for me.” Then she turned to Hannibal to gauge his reaction.

His mouth was in a narrow line as if he was angry. But his eyes looked frightened and wary. “Yes, darling, I did kill for you. To save your life.”

“I remember that, Hannibal. It scared me this morning, when I remembered. And then I realized: I would kill for you. I would kill for her,” she said, motioning to Abigail. “To save your lives, I’d do anything. You really, truly love me.”

Hannibal smiled, his brilliant teeth gleaming in the Tuscan daylight. “I really, truly do.”

Alana grasped Hannibal’s hand in hers. “I know you’ve killed others. I don’t remember the details. But I know you have.” She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, which was currently tensed. “But that’s your past. Abigail is our future.”

“Yes, that’s all in the past,” he confirmed, and he kissed Alana, then turned his gaze from his beloved wife to his future.

\--

They never found enough evidence to bring Hannibal Lecter to trial as the Chesapeake Ripper, and the Ripper murders stopped in 2015. There were no comparable murders in the Italian countryside either. The last Hannibal had heard, Will Graham still professed that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, but thankfully, no one listened.

For his wife and child, he stopped. Only for them.

Hannibal didn’t believe in happily ever after.

Alana wanted to believe.

As they watched their daughter run around their big backyard with Applesauce, they both knew that this was as close to happily ever after as they’d ever get.

It was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s all, folks. *sobs more* Hold me.
> 
> Or is it?
> 
> I’ve grown so attached to this story, to Hannibloom, and to you, my lovely readers. I don’t think I can give it up just yet. So if you’d like me to continue writing, I was thinking of doing some “missing pieces” or scenes from this universe that didn’t make it into the 30 days. So comment here or drop me an email at nsg2411@truman.edu if you have a “missing piece” from this story you’d like to see written! I can’t promise anything, but I’d love to hear your ideas. I’ll also be posting a 30 Days of Hannibloom masterpost over at tumblr (823freckles), so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> EDIT: The masterpost is [here](http://823freckles.tumblr.com/post/86295258929/heres-your-30-days-of-hannibloom-bleed-to-love-you)!


End file.
